Page 5 of Corruption
Davenport looked at the money the same way the marks had looked at his demon. He licked his lips. “I’ll give you one hour. And you don’t do any damage that won’t heal within a week.”
“Fine. But I don’t want him here.” Not where the smell of other men’s spunk and sweat would fill his nose, and not where anyone could lift a bit of canvas and watch. “Somewhere with no audience. A trailer.”
After a brief pause—his gaze still firmly on the money—Davenport grunted. “Give me fifteen minutes to get ready. And don’t expect the fucker to be in very good shape when you get him. The crowd was rough tonight.”
“Fifteen,” Charles growled in acknowledgment. He wanted to shoot Davenport in the crotch.
Twelve minutes later, as Charles waited outside the tent, the shill came to fetch him. “This way.” They walked into the dark center of the field, to a sort of clearing surrounded by a forest of tents, booths, and trucks. The trailer might once have been bright, but the paint had faded and peeled, and the moonlight stole the last of the color.
Charles started to step up to the entrance, but the shill caught his arm. “It’s used to pain. You can make it bleed, make it shriek, but that ain’t what’ll hurt it the worst.”
Sour bile rose in Charles’ throat and he squeezed the gun’s wooden grip. “Yeah?”
The man leaned closer, blowing fetid breath. “What you wanna do isalmostshow the bastard a little tenderness, yeah? Just a little stroke here, a soft touch there.Thenyou stab or twist or bash. It’s the combination, yeah? Rips the bastard apart.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Charles replied coolly. He tugged his arm free and strode up the two steps and into the trailer.
Davenport stood just inside, blocking him. “Two hundred dollars,” he said, holding out his hand. Charles handed over the bills, and Davenport counted them before tucking them inside his suit jacket. Then he rapped his walking stick once on the floor. “One hour. No major damage.”
“I’ve already agreed to that.”
“And I’ve already ordered him to obey you as if you were me. You know how it works?”
Charles did. Once a demon was properly summoned, its will was bound to its owner. Unless the incantations were nullified, the demon was incapable of disobedience—although a clever few managed to trick their way free eventually.
“No interruptions,” Charles said.
Davenport gave a shallow, mocking bow. “Not for sixty minutes.” He stepped around Charles and out the door.
Charles bolted the door behind him. It was a flimsy lock that wouldn’t hold if someone made a real effort to get in, but it was good enough. He’d already seen that the shutters were closed over the trailer’s tiny windows. He took a deep breath before turning to face the demon.
The demon knelt on the dingy floor, legs spread, head drooping forward. His wings were pressed tightly against his back, and his hands rested palms-up on his knees. Angry welts striped him, and blood and other fluids streaked his skin and matted his hair. He trembled slightly, but whether from fear, weakness, or pain, it was impossible to tell.
After Charles stood quietly for several moments, the demon finally lifted his eyes—and gasped.
Chapter Three
The men had been especially brutal tonight. Tenrael hurt inside and out, and he yearned for the false sanctuary of his cage. What troubled him most, however, was the man he’d seen while still in chains. Actually, Tenrael wasn’t at all sure itwasa man. His scent was odd, for one thing, sharp and sweet above the stink of the crowd. And his eyes—they were the strangest shade of green, pale and transparent as bottle glass. But mostly hefeltdifferent. He made Tenrael’s nerves buzz in a way that terrified him.
Tenrael had been sure the strange man was there to destroy him, and he’d almost begged for it. But the man had shaken his head, denying Tenrael even that mercy. No surprise, perhaps. The world held no mercy for Tenrael’s kind.
So tonight, more than ever, he longed to curl up in his cage and shut out the world, at least for a little while.
But Davenport and Ford had confused him, dragging him across the lot to a trailer instead. When Davenport made him kneel on the floor, Tenrael understood. Over the years, a few people had paid to spend time alone with him. The experience was never pleasant. The weariness itself was nearly enough to make him weep.
Until he caught an odor like ripe oranges and looked up to find the strange, pale man staring down at him.
Tenrael did the only thing he could do. He allowed his upper body to collapse until he was fully prostrate, his arms spread beseechingly. “Please,” he whispered.
The answering voice was rough. “What’s your name?”
“Tenrael.”
Tenrael couldn’t see with his face pressed to the dirty floor, but he heard the slight tap of a foot. “Tenrael,” the man said thoughtfully, drawing out the vowels. “Yes. A bringer of nightmares.”
Shocked into lifting his head, Tenrael gaped. “You... youknow?”
“I know the names of five thousand demons. The Bureau drilled me until I had them memorized.” He sighed slightly. “I’m Charles Grimes.”
